


Midnight Bonding

by RavenMJagonshi



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bonding, Boxing & Fisticuffs, Family, Fluff, Gen, Teaching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 11:07:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14851581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenMJagonshi/pseuds/RavenMJagonshi
Summary: Stan is thrashing his punching bag one night and is interupted by and insomniac Dipper. He teaches his great nephew a few things about fighting back and how to deal with bullies. Also for the tumblr prompts for anon.





	Midnight Bonding

He could feel someone else in the room. He didn’t need to see or hear them to know they were there. He didn’t spend ten years on the streets and not develop the skill to read his surroundings, to feel the shift in the air and know that another living being had entered the room.

He didn’t do this often. Not anymore; there wasn't really any need to practice. But with all the mental energy he’d been expending lately trying to get the damn portal up and running, he needed to work out his frustrations. The old lather of his boxing gloves still supple after all this time. The weight of the punching bag comforting against his onslaught.

He paused to breathe, one gloved hand braced against the bag, sweat beading on his skin.

“Grunkle Stan?”

Logically, it had to be one of the twins, but his great nephew’s voice still startled him. He took a quick glance over his shoulder to see the boy standing in the doorway, a blanket wrapped around his body.

“What’s up, kiddo? Shouldn’t you be asleep? Way past yer bedtime.” It wasn't, not really, with few responsibilities during the summer, the kids could go to sleep when they wanted and get up when they wanted. He didn’t care much, let’em have fun.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Which was obvious, but that didn’t explain why the kid had come to talk to him rather than just bug his sister like he usually would.

The boy entered his room, the blanket dragging along the floor behind him, to sit on Stan’s bed. Stan waited a few moments, but when Dipper didn’t speak, he turned back to the bag and continued smacking away to the bag. He used to be really good at getting into his opponent’s blind spots, taking a pummeling until he saw an opening and taking the win by a knockout. He footwork needed help though; thirty years of sedentary life was killer.

He punched hard at the bag and let his swing away and then back at him. He blocked and aimed left, right where his opponent’s blind spot would be.

“Can you teach me?” Stan’s left hand slid across the surface of the bag, knocking it sideways and into his face. He used his body weight to still the bag and rubbed at his nose, blinking at the boy kneeling on the mattress, watching him. He couldn’t see the kid clearly, his glasses sitting on the nightstand.

“Hang on, kid, can’t hear ya without my glasses.” He took the few steps over to retrieve them, ignoring Dipper’s confused question as to why Stan needed glasses to hear.

With his sight clear-ish, Stan sat down on the bed next to the boy. “Now, what was that?” Dipper looked less willing to make his request than he had moments ago. He wrapped the blanket tight around him and stared at the rug. Stan sighed, so he was gonna have to pull it out of the kid, huh? Fine.

“What’s eatin’ at ya? Ya wouldn’t be here otherwise.” Dipper just worried his lip in response. Stan gently laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed. “Can’t help if ya don’t open up, kid.”

Dipper opened and closed his mouth several times before he could choke out a response.

“Would you teach me how to box? Not, not like attacking or anything, but, just…like how to block or something.”

“Someone bullying you?”

“What? No, not…not here.” Dipper paused and curled himself up more before continuing. “There’s, this kid, back home, that won’t leave me alone. I get into fights all the time with him and nothing I say or do will make him stop. It’s part of the reason Mom and Dad sent us here. So, Mable and I could have one summer where I’m not coming home with bruises.”

Stan hummed in thought, listening to Dipper recount his tale. He nodded, understanding exactly what the kid was going through. He and his brother had been bullied a lot when they were younger. But while he had had years upon decades to get over his bully, Dipper was still facing the mental scars of his. Maybe… 

“Maybe he likes ya?” Stan knew it wasn't that, but Dipper’s sputtering and barely contained laughter told him that it was the right question. Pull the kid out of his moping.

“What?! EWW! Grunkle Stan! He’s a jerk! Even if I was interested, he’s just…a big poophead!” Stan chuckled at the kid’s choice of insult. It was one he used when he was young too.

“Alright, well, I guess I can show ya somthin’”   

They spent the next hour working on Dipper’s stance. Stan taught Dipper how to keep his balance, how to block, and how to divert the momentum of a punch. Stan stood behind the bag and swung it at Dipper a few times so the boy could learn to sidestep a punch and aim for a weak point. He didn’t have any gloves that would fit Dipper’s small hands, so he’d wrapped them as best he could with tape to give the by some padding. He showed Dipper how to hold his wrists stable, and where to put the force so that he wouldn’t break or sprain anything. The boy didn’t have much strength – Stan had been trying to work on that with all the chores he had Dipper do – but the kid was fast and agile. Like Stanford, a LOT like Stanford. Hmmmm.

“What does this kid do, anyway? Just mess ya up or what?” Stan was holding the bag as Dipper tried again to punch with full force and keep his wrist straight.

“Yeah, kinda. He used to tease me about my birthmark, then, when I got interested in ghosts and cryptids, he glued hair to my face and called me littlefoot.”

Stan snorted, not bad, but still not refined enough. Not as refined as the stunts he and Stanford pulled when they were young.

“You know what he’s into?” Dipper tried again to hit the bag with full strength; it hardly moved.

“What do you mean? Ow.” Dipper sipped too far in the last punch and bent his wrist back.

“Like, I dunno, does he ride a bike, have a hobby, or like some girl?” He was treading on dangerous territory here, he had to be careful. Small things were ok, but Dipper was still young and not nearly as tough as he was; kid was not going to handle being brought home by the cops well.

“He’s got a skateboard he keeps in his locker. But I don’t understand how that means anything.” Dipper massaged his wrist as Stan knelt down and gripped him by the shoulder.

“Here’s the deal, kid. And you didn’t hear this from me, got it?” Dipper nodded. “I can teach ya how to pop a locker, those are stupid easy. Com locks, at least the cheap ones, you can hear when the tumblers lock. You pop that locker in-between classes and leave it open. If he’s as much of a jerk as you say, I guarantee others will be wanting to get back at him. Let someone else take the board. Serve him right.”

Dipper’s jaw dropped. He stared into Stan’s eyes like he couldn’t believe what he had heard. He blinked a few times and closed his mouth, ready to retort something, but nothing came.  

“Hey, I’m a world class scam artist. What kind of advice didja think you were gonna get?” Stan began unwrapping Dipper’s hands, wadding the tape up and shoving it in his pocket. He stood and threw an extra towel at Dipper, the terry cloth hitting the thirteen-year-old in the face. Dipper sputtered, glaring at Stan as he wiped off his brow and neck.

“Get to bed, kid. It’s goin’ on one in the mornin’. And yer sister is gonna be runnin’ circles ‘round you ‘cause she got a full night’s sleep.”

Dipper turned to leave, towel and blanket wadded up under his arm. He paused at the door and turned back as Stan was putting his tape and gloves away.

“Grunkle Stan?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” Stan heard the kid make his way across the hall and up the stairs to the attic room. Darn kids. If they kept this up, he was gonna have a hard time letting them go back home. Maybe he’d call up Dan and ask if the kids could come up for spring break. Or maybe he’d actually close the shack down for the holidays and head down to California himself.

Stan pushed the gloves in the drawer aside and thumbed at the old photo of him and Stanford standing in the boxing ring laughing it up like they had all the time in the world. It was so nice to have a family again. But he couldn’t grow complacent. He had only just finished repairing the cable connections downstairs. He had to keep going.

“I’m gonna get you back, Ford. And when I do, we’re gonna be a family again. They’ll love you, I know it.”


End file.
